


the pack survives

by coveredinthecolors



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Braime - Freeform, F/M, Gendrya - Freeform, House Stark, jonsa, post 8x03, the ships are mostly implied and seen through sansa' pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-25 22:25:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18710902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredinthecolors/pseuds/coveredinthecolors
Summary: post 8x03: the Starks meet each other after the battle against the dead.





	the pack survives

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for GoT, so I hope you guys enjoy it!  
> I couldn't take this off my head and I'm just afraid the writers are not going to give us the Stark reunion post-battle in 8x04, so I had to do something about it.

There is relief and disbelief in her eyes as she watches the dead fall.

Suddenly, the threatening wights are just corpses lying on the crypt as they should be. Her hand does not let go of the dagger she’s been holding.

Sansa, however, allows herself to close her eyes.

She does not want to look at the decomposed bodies she was fighting a moment ago. She does not want to risk recognizing any of them, does not want to remembers they were the bodies of her family.

She also does not want to look at all the new bodies, just freshly killed.  _ Her people _ . Her people who she had failed to protect.

“It’s over,” she proclaims a moment later, gathering herself. She cannot be Sansa, not yet. She must be the Lady of Winterfell first and the Lady of Winterfell has to remain strong.

“You don’t know that,” Tyrion says, still wary. “It might be a strategy to lure us outside.”

Sansa raises her eyebrows. “They wouldn’t have needed to lure us outside. They could’ve had us joining their side right from here.”

He stares at her for a moment before nodding, consceding her point. He still does not look pleased when she takes a step towards the exit, and she is sure he is about to protest but he stops himself.

“Stay here,” she commands to the survivors. “I will come back for you to let you know if it’s safe.”

They nod, some whisper, “Yes, my Lady.” — it makes Sansa swallow, her grip around her weapon tightening.

These people trust her, even more so now that they know she would’ve laid down her life for theirs. That she would’ve done whatever it took to keep them safe.

Their gratitude doesn’t taste good as one might’ve hoped. Not when she feels like she failed them, when so many had died. Still, she knows they don’t need her guilt, that it won’t make any of it better.

So she walks to the door, keeping her head high and her steps unfaltering, and she uses her two hands to hold the blade so that no one will see they are shaking.

Sansa stands by the door, takes a deep breath. She listens closely to hear any sounds coming from outside, but there are no screams of agony. No screams of joy, either, but she supposes that even if they have won it won’t feel much like a victory. Not when so much was lost.

The thought makes her freeze. Who would she have lost?

_ Bran… _ They never should’ve used him as bait! Her little brother; she should’ve protected him better.  _ Arya… _ So very fierce and brave, her sister. And a skilled warrior, she knows, but skill is not the only thing that counts in a battle, especially one like this.  _ Theon… _ She just got him back. He just got himself back. He survived Ramsay, he deserves to survive it all.

_ Jon…  _ The thought of him has her reaching to open the door. She can’t stand the thought of not knowing who is alive and who isn’t.

She doesn’t pray anymore, doesn’t really have any faith in the Gods. But in this moment… If there was any deity listening…

_ Please let my family be safe. _

 

* * *

 

It is chaos outside.

The dead are, indeed,  _ dead _ , but the amount of bodies in the courtyard… It makes her sick. Lost. So many were lost.

Sansa remembers the songs she used love, the ones that talk about the glories of battles and knights. As she had found out to be almost always the case, the songs were nothing but lies.

There is no glory in what she sees. Men and women are crying, some have vomited their guts out. Some have expelled the content of their guts in a different manner.

The smell is unpleasant, but not as unpleasant as the scent of death.

She refuses to look at the corpses searching for familiar faces. She will keep her eyes to the living, and hope to find those she seeks among them.

Sansa catches a glimpse of Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime. They are sitting next to each other, heads bowed. It appears that Brienne has taken her asking if she’d fight beside him a bit too literally. But she catches Jaime Lannister glancing at her every few seconds, as if not believing Brienne is truly by his side.  _ Oh _ . That is unexpected, she thinks.

And she almost smiles, remembering how quick Brienne had been to defend him. It all makes sense now.

It doesn’t easy the knot in her throat, but it gives her hope to see that these two didn’t lose each other. And hope makes her strong enough to go where she knows she must go to find her answers — the Godswood.

Her steps are more unsure as they lead her there. Her heart aches in despair, fearful of what she’ll find. Fearful she might be all alone again.

So little time. She’s had so little time with her family all together again… It isn’t fair that she might have already lost it all.

She must be strong, though. She must be strong and she must find out what happened.

There are corpses in the Godswood. Far too many of them.

But she sees two people standing, moving. Alive. She’s too far to recognize them, but she breathes in relief all the same, starting to walk faster.

Bran’s wheelchair is beside the tree. He is still sits there. He doesn’t move much — especially when compared to how he used to be as a child, always running, always climbing —, but there’s the occasional tilt of his head, a movement of his shoulder…

Bran. She still has him.

As she gets closer, she recognizes the other two people standing there.  _ Arya. Jon. _

She is running now, gathering her skirts in her fists, not particularly caring if pressing the dagger against the fabric will ruin it, so that it won’t get in her way. She almost understands Arya’s love for pants in that moment.

Jon sees her first. His eyes go wide like they did when she arrived in Castle Black all that time ago.

She throws herself in his arms like she did that day, too.

_ “Sansa,” _ he breathes against her ear, holding her close. Far too close to be proper, but, Gods, who could possibly worry about such things in a moment like this? He was alive. Her family was alive.

She buries her face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in.

Underneath the smell of sweat and blood and ashes, it’s  _ Jon _ . It’s the first semblance of safety she felt in too many years.

This… This feels like finding him again. His embrace makes her feel — like it did back then — that everything would be fine, as long as they were together.

“You did it,” she manages to say before the tears clog her throat. “You did it.”

He pulls back to look at her, keeping his arms still loosely wrapped around her. He has a small smile on his face as he shakes his head. “Wasn’t me.”

Jon points with his chin to Arya, who is standing beside them. Her eyes, that had been scanning the place, assessing any possible threats, now focus on Sansa. A little defiance in her gaze, as if daring her sister to mock her like it was the norm for when they were children.

Sansa steps away from Jon’s embrace, not taking her eyes from Arya.

She stops in front of her sister and smiles. “Did you stick him with the pointy end?”

Arya’s face breaks into a grin as she shrugs. “Something like that.”

She isn’t sure who reaches for whom, but soon they’re both wrapped in each other’s arms. Arya is shaking a little, and Sansa holds her tighter. Fierce and brave as her sister may be she’s still so young to have been through so much.

Sometimes people seem to forget that.

They let go, eventually. Sansa scans her face with an analytical gaze.

“You’re hurt,” she says, frowning at the wounds in her sister’s face. She looks over at Jon, noticing that he’s pressing his hand against his side, and when she looks down to her own body, she sees there is blood in her dress. “You both are.”

Her voice comes out slightly panicked, and Jon reassures her quickly. “We’ll be fine.”

They all know she won’t drop it so quickly, but the wounds truly don’t seem so pressing that she must make them a priority right now. So she allows her gaze to meet Bran’s.

He’s staring at her in that new, strange way Bran does, and she approaches him carefully.

He is not Bran, she reminds herself. Not really.

It doesn’t change anything, though. She looks at him and still sees her baby brother. Her baby brother who gave up everything to fulfill his destiny. She wishes she could’ve kept him safe.

Sansa doesn’t throw herself in his arms as she would like to do. She doesn’t hug him and ruffles his hairs and share a secretive smile like the ones they used to share when they were children.

Still, she approaches him. She lays her hand on top of his and squeezes it. She knows far too well what it’s like not wanting others to touch you and she won’t inflict this discomfort on him just because he looks like her baby brother.

But to her surprise, Bran squeezed her hand back. It isn’t much, but it’s so much more than he has given anyone ever since he came back.

She forces herself to hold back the tears as he nods at her. She nods back. A strange understanding passing through them — they’re both trying to be what the other needs.

Sansa lets her eyes wander now, though she keeps holding his hands.

An ice cold shiver goes down her spine as she notices who is missing. Who should’ve been here.

“Where is Theon?” she asks, voice breaking because deep down she already knows the answer.

Bran squeezes her hand again.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her.

Sansa shakes her head. She knows it’s true, but she can’t believe it. Can’t accept it.

“No,” she says, tears gathering in her eyes. “No.”

But she is already seeking him among the fallen corpses.

“Sansa,” Jon calls softly, but she doesn’t look at him. Not when she recognizes Theon’s face in one of the bodies.

She walked right past him coming in, didn’t even notice him.

She takes hurried steps to him now. Tears slipping silently down her cheek.

Sansa drops to her knees beside him, closing her eyes and letting the image of his face… Of his open, lifeless eyes staring into nothing; of the now frozen blood making a path from his lips, to his cheek, to the cold ground… She memorizes it. Lets it be burned to her brain.

He is gone and there is nothing she can do. He had saved her and she was hiding down in the crypts when he died.

“Oh, Theon,” she breathes and it  _ hurts _ . “I’m so sorry. I should- I should have–”

“There was nothing you can do,” Arya’s voice is soft, as is her hand on her shoulder. “He died a hero’s death, protecting Bran. Protecting everyone.”

Sansa shakes her head. “I should’ve been here. I should have–”

She knows it’s silly. Even if she had been here, she could’ve done nothing to protect him, not really.

Arya grips her shoulder a little tighter. “Then he would’ve seen you die and would have gone down thinking he had failed you. He wouldn’t have wanted that.”

She runs her fingers through Theon’s hair and leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. And then she nods, knowing that Arya is right.

“Thank you,” she whispers to her fallen friend. She swallows a sob and repeats it more firmly. Theon deserves more than her weakness, “Thank you.”

Before she can rise, she hears a howl.

_ Ghost _ , she smiles. He came to find them.

Ghost runs to her before anyone else. He still takes Jon’s order to protect her very seriously, and she appreciates his loyalty.

He sits in front of her, licks her cheek to dry the tears streaming down it. It’s what he always does when she wakes up from a particularly bad nightmare.

Sansa runs her hands through his pelt, breathing again in relief now that she knows he’s alive.

Feeling more composed, she accepts Arya’s hand to help her rise. Jon still stands in his place, looking at her worriedly.

She doesn’t know what to say or do to assure him that she’s fine, because she isn’t fine. But Arya hasn’t let go of her hand yet and she must push back her own needs for now, so that she can take care of everyone else. There will be time to heal later.

Brienne makes her way into the Godswood, eyes scanning the place and looking for the two girls. Even in a moment like this, she’s still so honourable, so intent on keeping Catelyn Stark’s daughters alive and well.

Sansa smiles at her. A little more genuinely when she sees Ser Jaime following her close behind, just like Podrick.

“My ladies,” Brienne bows her head in respect, relief clear in her eyes in seeing them unharmed. “My lords,” she looks at Jon and Bran, who nod in acknowledgement. “You are well?”

“Yes, Lady Brienne,” Sansa replies. “I am happy to see that you are as well.”

“Excuse me, my Lady,” Podrick says politely, clearing his throat. Sansa raises her eyebrows, she doesn’t think he has ever spoken to her directly before. “Ser Brienne would be more correct, if you don’t mind. She was knighted before the battle.”

“Podrick!” Brienne reprimands, but Sansa can see the pride and pleasure she feels at his words.

She eyes Jaime Lannister curiously, knowing that he must have been the one to knight her. He looks pointedly at the ground.

Sansa grins at Brienne, letting the good news take over her in this moment. “Ser Brienne… Yes, that is definitely more appropriate.”

She blushes, just a little. “Thank you, my Lady.”

Yes, she will focus on these little joys. She will need them to be strong in the days to come.

And, indeed, she has to fight back a laugh when, the moment a man walks into the Godswood, Arya lets go of her hand and takes a step forward. He takes a step towards her, too, and the way he breathes her name,  _ “Arya.” _ ... Sansa’s eyes widen in understanding.

Who would’ve thought that, out of the two of them, Arya would be the one in love?

Sansa refuses to look at Jon as she thinks that. Not even to notice his reaction to Arya and this man (she truly needs to find out who he is!) clearly having something going on between them.

The man looks embarrassed to have put himself in his position, and quickly starts bowing. “Apologies, my lords. My ladies.”

“It’s all right,” Sansa says. “It’s only natural one would want to greet our saviour. Arya Stark, slayer of the Night King. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

His eyes widen almost comically. But it’s not as funny as the way Arya turns to glare at her. She thinks that, if it wouldn’t be so terribly obvious, her sister would’ve said  _ “Stop it!” _ , like a girl feeling embarrassed in front of the man she likes.

“You did it?” he asked. He didn’t sound surprised, which Sansa enjoyed. He didn’t underestimate her sister, then.

“Not with the weapon you made me, I’m afraid,” Arya says, her voice cooler as she tries to pretend indifference. By the smile on his face, Sansa can tell that it’s some kind of game they play. That he enjoys the teasing.

“I will try to make something worthy for the Night King slayer, then, my Lady.”

“Don’t call me that,” Arya replies quickly and sharply.

Sansa finds herself biting down her lip to keep from laughing. She looks at Bran and finds him with a small smile on his lips. And Jon… She risks looking at him, too. He seems thorn between exasperated and amused, but when he meets her gaze, he grins at her.

She grins back.

Everything is a mess. 

Theon’s death has opened a dark hole in her chest and she’s grown far too used to having these wounds in her heart to know it’ll take a long time before it closes.

She will have to deal with the losses of Lords and Ladies, perhaps of entire Houses. And her heart aches when she thinks of everyone who must have fallen in this war. Her people… The North has a long memory and they will never forget the weight of this night.

She knows she will carry this burden for the rest of her days.

And the wars they have to fight are far from over. Cersei, the Dragon Queen… Peace isn’t quite at the horizon just yet.

But her pack is here. Her family.

Grief and pain will take over tomorrow, but in this moment she wants to smile. At loyal Brienne, finally being given what she deserves. At Arya, saving them all and capturing the heart of a man who seems to love her just the way she was.

Sansa looks over at Jon, smiling at him again.

She feels hopeful.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know your thoughts! It's always a bit nervewrecking writing for a new fandom, so I'd really love to know your opinions!


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